


Drop The Game

by tanynova



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula 2 RPF
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Loss, M/M, Not Happy, Psychological Trauma, Self-Reflection, Sexual Orientation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanynova/pseuds/tanynova
Summary: Everyone praised Charles for his psychological strength — both in the race and out. Despite all, he stayed true to his one and only passion — racing. He was also determined to believe that everything that has happened around him won’t break him. That rule proved to be wrong.
Relationships: Anthoine Hubert/Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly/Daniil Kvyat
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Seek

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is it - my first fic ever. I haven't finished the ending though yet which makes me anxious, but the publishing will push me to writing. I'm very sorry in advance for how poorly written this work is and how it doesn't have any sense.
> 
> BUT if you like it (which is unlikely) - you're welcome ^^
> 
> Also! The idea of this ummm coping mechanism? Charles has was taken partially from this series https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504679/chapters/33510039 "Sleepy Charles is Cuddly Charles" by Quagswagging. I felt it needed to be said ;)

It’s been a while since Charles sparked with a genuine smile. Looking from the side, people would describe his position adequate at least, obviously, he wasn’t future Ferrari's Schumacher _yet_ , even though hopes were put on him already. However, as if in spite of it all, it felt off. Not always though, therefore Charles was usually writing it off for standard fatigue — he was still fresh to the feeling of Scuderia’s F1 roaring red in his hands. Also, the new team brings new schedules and routines, which made the friendship with his fellow francophones more distant than all of them had wished for.

Clearly, it wasn’t helping him in dealing with everything being so… Dream-like. Not necessarily in a good way, he couldn’t really describe it. Anyway, Pierre, Charles and Anthoine (well, Esteban too, but now he seems drifting off from them) liked to escape somewhere (preferably to the sea on a boat) and reminisce about ‘the old times’, when everything they had to worry about was themselves in a kart, or even in one sitter at the very beginning when it all was fresh and green.

‘Look, I know it’s late for you guys, but this thought was stuck in my mind for too long. We need to go on holidays during the summer break!’ the young driver was desperately trying to sound okay in the message to the group chat which was working only partially. None of his friends were online, so the only thing left after pressing send was to restrain himself from writing a poem how he was suspiciously anxious lately. To be fair, it wasn’t truly causeless — the start of the season hasn’t brought many uplifting moments to Charles. Him being a perfectionist only exacerbated fear of being ‘not enough’ or ‘not worthy of a place’, even though it was conspicuously team’s strategists’ fault.

'Couldn't sleep so hi, I've been planning to spend some time with my girlfriend but, uh, I haven't told you all, but we broke up…' Anthoine followed up Charles's unsettlement with his own sorrow.

'Je suis vraiment desolé, Anthoine.’ young Scuderia driver felt silly for his first message.

'Merci.’ F2 driver was quite laconic.

'Kind of don't know what to write here but hi.' Pierre wasn't asleep either.

'Wait, actually I know, you both need a holiday, and to be honest, I'd use some too. I'm very tired of seeing Max's face so disappointed in his teammate. I bet he misses Dan...' he unconsciously brought up his worries too.

  
***

It was an exhausting week spent under German rain. Neither Red Bull nor Ferrari driver had any time to rest after the appalling race. Finally, a plane. The place where you just sit and do nothing and, most importantly, no one is expecting you to do anything, which let holiday thoughts back to both of them. 

‘So, any ideas where we could go on summer break?’ Charles brought back the subject to Pierre in real life. 

It didn’t matter where to go. In fact, the only condition driver had in mind was that there wouldn’t be anyone else except for three of them, specifically without a sight of the stark white uniform of Silver Arrows prevailing around. Not that he couldn’t concentrate on self-improvement and his own team, he wouldn’t get to Formula 1 otherwise, but their overall preponderance as a cherry topper to the cake of ‘wingman’ badge put on him by Ferrari was a stone to bear on the shoulders.

‘Sorry, haven’t given it a thought really yet, maybe you or Anthoine have something in mind?’ could summarize Pierre generally not being an instigator.

Monégasque dropped the question to the chat as an answer, not really hoping to get anything back — at the end of the day he knew his idea was a bit of a stretch, their old-time holidays practically ceased to exist a couple of years ago. Everyone was involved in their own careers.

'How about... something tropical and rural? Living in a forest!' Pierre definitely needed some sleep.

'I wasn't hoping to get any sort of suggestions to be honest, so thanks for the input, but imagine us, three drivers who grew up around metal and petrol being in the actual forest, what an embarrassing scene...', Leclerc suddenly remembered this one embarrassing camping trip he had at the age of twelve. Who even decided he should make fire?!

Probably that slid around French mind too, judging by a little furtive giggle.

'I was trying to put my mind off things, so I googled some places and Southern France seems like a great update for our “voyages”. If we want to get some real rest, we should escape. Not how it usually ends up with us going on your boat, Charles', Anthoine didn't hit everyone's mood exactly right, even though he suggested something realistic.

It sparked in the Monégasque’s mind — that sounded like an ideal way to spend their summer break. No one to bother them - check. Awesome location - check. Parfait!

'If we don’t have any other ideas I suggest Hotel Cinq' Charles' place mate did some swift research already, while adding out loud in French:

‘Oh, finally I won’t have to speak English for a while, I grew up to hate it!’ increased attention to him in Red Bull only worsen his exhaustion from unsuccessful races. And speaking English.

It was crystal clear all of them run out of energy to resume in the same manner so mutual like-mindedness filled their ‘Les Trois' chat instantly. Both Pierre and Charles sighed tiredly yet contently to the very thought of getting some rest and happily accepted the drowsiness brushing over them.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Je suis vraiment desolé - I'm really sorry  
> Parfait - perfect  
> Les trois - The three - add mentally a couple of emojis around the name, probably red ones (Charles loves red too much we all know that ;))
> 
> Well!... We're just putting the very tip of our toe into this story - there's a lot to come, folks!


	2. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get to their holiday spot.... But why is everyone so uptight?

Baggage fell readily on the floor right before Charles almost followed it, which was one of the most evident results of severe sleep deprivation. His old-time habits of falling asleep, unfortunately for him, crawled their way back bringing ‘sprinkles’ to the cake of distress of the first half of the season. Weirdly enough, while criticizing every race of his, he still considered himself as a mentally strong person. Life put, looking from the side, too much on his plate, yet he managed to struggle through it every time. Every day, every time. However, nobody is made out of steel, and Charles wasn’t an exception.

‘Careful with that doorstep!’ Anthoine, thankfully for Pierre who hurried behind, was fast enough to catch unsteady Monégasque.

‘Désolé, I fell asleep on the plain...’ tired driver tried to shake off his slightly stiffed back.

‘But we’ve been walking to the hotel for ten minutes. We actually parked cars a bit farther to enjoy the view’, Anthoine looked suspicious.

No wonder he reacted this way, their hotel (actually a penthouse) met Mediterranean Sea from the French coast in the best way possible, tracing the line of the beach, giving away a scenery to ultramarine eternal waves. Every sea lover, as all three of them were, would lose one’s breath grasping the view.

Strangely for the most, Charles didn’t share the awe, half asleep. Pierre knew what might’ve been happening to him, but didn’t want to acknowledge it. Or simply think of it. 

‘Maybe he’s just sleepy, he’s always the one who wears himself to the very limit. We left the same day the race ended," Pierre was murmuring to himself hoping no one would notice.

With other French’s help, Charles managed to get himself through the door completely abandoning his baggage. Whilst them being busy with finding a spot to seat, the third traveller playing a caring mother threw their bags inside adding a slammed door to it.

‘Thanks for nothing guys’, he added sarcastically.

‘Yeah, we should take care of these, come on Charles, let’s take our bags to the rooms… Charles?’, Hubert shook his shoulders, trying to wake him up.

‘Yes-yes, I’m awake, I’ll get these’, weary Monégasque jumped up as instantly as a drowsy person could.

Pierre at the same time as taking his stuff to the room gave Charles an uneasy glance with a hidden question in it. Obviously, it didn’t get an answer - respondent was heading to his room.

In a snap of a finger, Anthoine was left alone. Not only alone but also very confused.

‘What was that all about? Is there something between them?’ he asked himself sotto voce.

Either way, at least he had an opportunity to enjoy the surroundings - modern, minimalistic to the ideal level and pleasantly spacious room was asking to get yourself comfortable and… Rest. Finally, for each three of them.

‘Probably should get going too’, he rushed for his bags.

***

The wall in Charles' room had an astonishingly textured ceiling, which he discovered by staring at it for the past two hours, at least it felt like two. He couldn't sleep. At all. Again. Nothing seemed to help, the driver already took sleeping pills, tried every technique he had taught himself over the years… it must've been something worse. Having coming and going insomnia led young Monégasque to numerous websites and psychologists, therefore not being able to find anything to make his eyes close was nerve-racking. 

'I guess there's the only way left', he whispered to himself and sat up in bed, wearily rubbing eyes.

He chuckled despondently in the complete darkness, painfully remembering what happened last time Charles "used" this "sedative".

'Either way, I can't go on like this, 2 to 4 hours of sleep for almost a week… Surprisingly, I haven't met the wall on full speed', his mind started to spiral into darker corners with a face still holding the pitiful chuckle.

'Alright I'm getting up', Leclerc sighed.

He pushed the door just slightly to heed two other residents. Anthoine drunkenly sobbing on Pierre's shoulder, to be exact.

'What did I do wrong, why would she break up with me, why should I even have a girlfriend, they all dump me,' was still noticeable in his speech, accompanied by other's compassionate yet drunkish sighs.

Charles stood there for a while gazing at him - why he wasn't able to accept it. Being scared or uncertain isn't an excuse. 

'Oh you've woken up, sorry I'm like this', F2 driver saw a sleepy fluffy head over French driver's shoulder.

'I'm no better', Leclerc advanced hesitantly to the sofa in the centre of the vast room, sensing the ambiguous glare.

'Did we wake you up?' Pierre asked, knowing the answer.

Monégasque took a deep breath.

'You know I haven't fallen asleep at all.'

Pierre's knuckles went white.

'I can't help you, in fact, you didn't want my help', the air was soaked with tension.

'You know perfectly well it wasn't like that. I was stupid and just scared,' Charles's eyes start to glisten. 

He hated this feeling with every cell of his being - anger mixed with the deepest sorrow, self-hate added on top.

The third wheeler could notice tears wetting the floor right beneath the bowed light brown head.

'I need some air,' Pierre heavy-handedly grasped the half-filled wine bottle and headed to the balcony, leaving one of the two very perplexed and the other heartsore.

Anthoine let him get alcohol going through the veins until he dared to break the heavy silence:

'Would be inappropriate not to notice... What was that all about?'

Charles tried to resist a groan, looking for words in a foggy head. There weren't any which wasn't unexpected considering the amount of wine he gulped on an empty stomach.

'I… It's difficult to explain, I used my bestest friend and paid for it when it all got serious,' he said in a shaken voice glancing at the glass door to the balcony.

As any sensible person would react, Anthoine leaned towards him to hug. However, the result was stronger than anticipated - curly brown-haired head lost its hold falling asleep.

'Wow, when was the last time you slept properly?' 

'No idea, last week I guess'

'Then why are you here, you must get some sleep!'

'Because I can't fall asleep alone.'

Silence hit them both. Now it barely made some sense. Still, is it worthy of a quarrel?

'What do you mean?'

'When I was little my mum would hug me till I fall asleep after a bad day. Obviously, like any normal person, I grew over it. Well, I thought so,' he rushed for a bottle not caring to poor dry red into the glass, 'Long story short, it came back. Like a coping mechanism against stress. Little did my brain know that it would be fucking stupid to go around and ask someone to 'cuddle in bed',' he suddenly felt guilty and tongue-tied.

Well, okay, it could've been something worse. But what is there so upsetting even if Pierre agreed to it. Just hugs, right? Or…

'We all have our ups and downs with people, but here and now we're supposed to rest, okay?' he padded distressed Monégasque on the shoulders, 'I can come with you. At the end of the day, I need some comforting too.'

'What happened?' Charles desperately tried to distract himself.

'Oh my, get up, we're going to sleep. Don't you remember me crying over a girlfriend half an hour ago? Well, not only about that,' he chuckled sadly.

'What do you mean?...' he mumbled languidly.

'Nothing much, don't worry,' French brushed it off.

_ 'It's not the time to talk about my, urhm, curiosity, considering there might be none.' _

***

Sheets became unpleasantly cold with nobody sleeping on them. Or cosplaying a drill. It was still a nice spot to lie down a tired body, especially sleep-deprived. Or so Anthoine thought before catching hesitant Charles still somehow standing.

_ What so horrible could happen that you're so reluctant… _

'Cmon, you're my friend and I want to help you. Everyone has to sleep, you included.'

Monégasque gave in and joined the other in bed, still constrained.

'I told you already, it's fine,' Anthoine soothed yet again.

They turned to each other. The other could barely see salty lashes stuck together over troubled ochre-blue eyes. 

Giving in, Monégasque leant to Anthoine really fast, grabbing his shirt like a drowning person would hold onto a lifebuoy, overwhelmed by everything. He hugged him slowly but tightly in return, feeling Charles' soft trebling stopping.

'Merci.' Charles whispered to somewhere around Anthoine's chest.

He ruffled his dishevelled hair as an answer.

'Bonne nuit,' subtle smile sparked on French's lips hearing Charles's breathing evened out.

_ He's like an abandoned puppy, how did it come to this? Well, I'm more than fine to help this way, after all, I love hugging Charles…  _

He softly stroked Charles' back and drifted off to sleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no new French words for you this time, but we're getting some contest and some ideas on who's who with whom (English left)
> 
> Any ideas, folks?


	3. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All three boys are reminiscing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be a bit of French again - I couldn't help myself - but also a translation at the end ;)

It's been around four days since their arrival. Thankfully, Pierre came around and after a couple of days, they started having a proper holiday. Well, coming around is a strong word - he calmed down, but still behaved distantly with Charles, even though everyone was generally okay with it. Charles was a better definition for "okay" though, having Anthoine succouring him this way improved his sleep drastically. Finally, despondent look faded away and let out happy cheerful Monégasque. When nobody could see, Pierre would smile lovingly photocopying Monégasque smile to his mind.

Still, it took more than one night with somewhat awkward explanations accompanied by some questions from the French one.

***

Unfortunately gifted with insomnia Charles went up to Hubert's room with an unsteady pace and looked in. Frenchman was slightly pouting, reading a book in bed with a concentrated look. Lights were dim and pleasantly warm, suggesting he was ready to sleep after reading. Actually, his room was cosy and generally more charming then Charles', at least still standing driver thought so at that moment.

"Um, ahem," he coughed just slightly to draw some attention. 

"Oh, Charles, thought you were asleep already, what's up?" Anthoine looked up somewhat confused.

He was evading, "Uh, thanks for yesterday, I hated to ask but it helped a lot."

"Mate, no problem! We're best friends after all," he grinned heartily.

"Yeah… About that," he scratched his head sheepishly. "I can't fall asleep," his head bowed almost as if he was guilty of his struggle.

"For the third time in a row?" he watched at poor stiff driver standing by the way in almost slyly.

The responder fell silent since there was nothing to answer really. It was kind of stupid, to be frank. Being an adult and going for some hugs because you can't fall asleep alone - this is straight-up weird. Plus, led to somewhat unwanted, at least not intended, affection, so it being back was even more embarrassing than the first time. Not only that - it was also petrifying.

"Okay, get in," Anthoine put his book down, pulling away from a part of a blanket, inviting.

Monégasque trudged towards the bed, still somewhat unsure, finishing the walk by falling flat on the bed, which made another one chuckle.

When he made himself comfortable, Anthoine decided to ask again: 

"If you don't want to answer, I won't push you, but I'm puzzled… I don't remember you talking about your, um, problem, but it seems to be not new for you... Also, why didn't you at least ask Pierre, I thought you were the best friends," he said in a low voice, pulling Charles a bit closer considering he wouldn't fall asleep otherwise.

The other tensed up despite a light hug, "The key here is past tense. If I go to him now I will ruin what is already dilapidated," suddenly, flashbacks became way too vivid, he had to squint as though a direct strong light was baking his retina.

Anthoine sighed and patted him on the shoulder to show that he listened, even though he didn't know what to say. Especially including the fact that, if he got the hints, it was about affection between two men, in which area he had no experience whatsoever.

"Anyway, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here, okay? I'm sure you both will come around."

However, it seemed that Charles wasn't listening already, and he dozed off. 

"At least, in this case, it can't go this way can it?" he whispered somewhat not convinced and closed his eyes.

***

The light breeze sneaked through the window moved young Monégasque's hair just slightly giving him shivers. He was already woken up and was enjoying it - a lot of uneasiness scampered away, letting green-ochre eyes - finally - set themselves on the sea, calmly reposing on the other side of the brick house wall. Anthoine was still asleep and Charles would've hated if his content sigh had woken him up. In fact, he would also hate to wake up alone without someone, Anthoine, alongside him, hands still in half-hug. Either way, 5th day of their holiday wasn't the one to explore why he wasn't sleeping in his own bead for once.

They planned something majestic but also reminiscent - going to the open sea on a small (the cheapest, actually) yacht. It was an essence of their "past life", where they could hang out on the coastline now and then, splashing water on each other's faces and chuckling stupidly. When the opportunities came, all three - sometimes with other friends, but them three were always the base - commenced going on a boat to more remote parts of the beach - it felt dangerous for teenagers grown up alongside steel, carbon fibre and oil.

Charles mused digging all these moments from his mind, not noticing Anthoine was, awake, eyeing vaguely silent Monégasque, which eventually startled the latter. It took a moment for both to look away, finding a reason to get up. 

Almost as a habit, Pierre was already pottering with kitchen utensils in a desperate attempt to, make, presumably, crêpes. Other two couldn't exactly grasp why he was bothering with it. Little did they know it was a very effective way to sort out your thoughts for Pierre. Not the best way to cook breakfast though. 

"This was supposed to be les crêpes aux framboises," exhaled poor Frenchman, pointing angrily at the beige blob on the pan and several others off-loaded on the plate.

"For how long have you been up?" Charles seemed quite worried.

Pierre shrugged, "Not for long... Either way, now we ran out of eggs."

Before French Invasion of the Kitchen, there were a dozen of them, you wouldn't use them up quickly if you were making crêpes. This basic calculation didn't have to be made since this fact adhered to his mind years ago.

_ "Hey, it's fine if this suffle doesn't want to stay puffy" Prema driver was consoling disappointed reserve Red Bull driver. Nevertheless, French hands were conspicuously trembling, breathing almost fitful. _

_ "Oui, je sais," Pierre rustled and ruching away abruptly, leaving Monégasque alone in the room, silent and perplexed. _

Charles came closer to his still friend, putting the hand on the shoulder.

"Are you  _ okay? _ You know you can trust me," his voice sounded therapeutic.

_ Oh, you can't help me with it, you are, in fact, the reason. _

Pierre put on the most unnatural smile in the word, "No, it's not that at all, it's in the past, I just wanted to, um, cheer you up guys, it's our holiday!" it sounded way too lengthy and fake.

Knowing him way too well, Charles decided not to push it and changed the subject.

"I think what will certainly light up the mood is what we've planned for today, well, I already booked it, we can leave whenever we want today," his tone momentarily infused the air with excitement. Pierre always found it arcane how Charles could make him smile in seconds. Or cry, depending on the situation, his empathy for this human being was almost unreal.

"And we can have breakfast there too, I guess," Anthoine stumbled, seeing the other two jump.

"Sorry, I was hoping we're not eating this... What was that supposed to be?" he facetiously grinned.

"Yeah... Doesn't really matter, let's go" failed French chef Gasly didn't have any desire to contemplate his cooking disaster.

***

They stood in awe for at least five minutes, Charles was sparkling blissfully.

"It was rather hard to find, but it's  _ the one  _ we stole," he was extremely proud of himself.

Anthoine readjusted his glasses, "Stole is a strong word, we were shit scared, so we returned it after half an hour or something."

Smirking, the instigator declared "Actually, we won't have to steal it any more. I bought it."

"Quoi?!" deadpan paid off.

"I know, it's old and might fall apart tomorrow, but the spirit is unique!"

Disingenuous complaining about his purchase wasn't heard - his friends were rushing already to their old-new "Le Pétrin".

"It's just how it used to be! Damp and rusty," Anthoine exhaled quickly walking down inside the yacht. They all wandered saying nothing, only some giggling escaped their mouths a couple of times.

Pierre's fingers brushed over the scraped decrepit wood surface of the table.

_ "What the hell are you doing?" whisper's breath shared its heat with Pierre's cheek. _

_ "C'mon, Charles, no one would know," he muttered. _

_ "PC? Add a plus in the middle and a heart around, right," young driver scoffed annoyingly, failing to hide a smile. Whatever was happening between them was quaint, to say the least; they couldn't even formulate it in their heads, let alone talking about it. _

The letters faded over time, yet whoever owned it didn't care enough to buy a new table for the cabin. French heart sank to the touch of the wooden curves.

"Hey, guys, they even left this!" Charles was referring to the old eerie picture of someone, presumably the first owners. 

He clapped his hands, grinning, "So! Where are we going to swim? Any suggestions?"

"We will go.. There," F2 driver pointed to the sea, purposefully not pointing to anywhere in particular.

Charles felt somewhat warm inside from how stupidly innocent this gesture was _.  _ He forced himself back to reality and added, "Pierre? Anything... Proper?"

He silently shook his head awkwardly avoiding Monégasque's attention.

"Well then, let's go, Anthoine - yes, you're behind the wheel, I know how impatient you are already," Ferrari driver nudged him jokingly.

Frenchman puffed in return, yet hastened to the deck with other two following.

***

Pierre positioned himself on the deck's bench, facing infinite ultramarine waves. Even though cooking was hard enough for him to get lost in the recipe instead of one particular dark-haired countenance, nothing could provide him with the tranquillity sea was giving. The salty damp air was rushing through his hair, the subtle spray was delightful and refreshing. The sound of glasses touching brought him back, and he turned around.

"May I?" this exact dark-haired persona was holding wine glasses with red splashed in them.

"Sure," he put on a tired smile and partially turned towards the other.

"Cheers!" they raised their glasses.

A reluctant smile crossed French face, "You always know what's my favourite..."

"I would never forget what you like!" Charles pretended to be offended.

Hints of fermented grapes crept around the deck, reviving something that felt old. It was obviously intended. Charles couldn't bear any more second seeing his bestest friend like this, they had to clear thing out. And almost cinematic environment couldn't be more fitting. However, it wasn't making it any easier. 

He tried to clear his throat, "How have you been doing lately? You seem to be a bit shaken up, is everything all right? Be sure that I'm not asking to fill up the silence, I'm genuinely concerned," the Monégasque was searching for French eyes, yet they were escaping him.

Pierre let out a sound sigh, which seemed to be held in longer than it was supposed to be.

"We haven't even talked about... About that," even the native language couldn't help him with finding words.

"We can now, that is, partially, the point I did all of this. Listen, I can't stand catching this look in your eyes. What happened back then... Is there something you want to share? I remember when was the last time you were such a vigorous cook with achieving this  _ puffy souffle, _ " a voice with subtle Ligurian accent hidden within was almost whispery, somewhat for Anthoine not hearing a thing, but also for hiding the trembling.

_ Almost habitually, Prema driver was heading to his friend's bedroom. He heard the other coming back, so he decided to check on him.  _

_ "Is everything all right?" Charles was still worried. _

_ "Yeah, sure, let's just go to sleep, it's late," clearly, Pierre wasn't very eager to keep up with the topic. _

_ Charles was about to be announced as F1 driver what sparked long gone and forgotten insomnia. Thankfully, he had his best friend beside him who knew about it and was only delighted to help.  _

_ "Pierre, merci  _ beaucoup _ , je sais pas ce que je ferais sans toi" he whispered, lying on the other's chest, eyes met. _

_ Frenchman pulled him closer reassuringly, "You can always count on me, you're the closest person I ever had in my life. Might be the only person I will care about this much." _

_ The ochre splattered eyes widened significantly in return, mouth silently opened. _

_ "I.. I don't even know what to say, you can always count on me too. I hope you know this too."  _

_ "Would you still say that if I tried something stupid?" his eyes squinted with incomprehensible emotion. _

_ Charles smiled softly, "Obviously-". _

_ His sentence was cut short by French lips pressing over his own very promptly, almost clumsily. Heatwave went over him accompanied by something unreadable in both of their minds. As fast was the action, so was the push away. _

_ "Did you mean that by 'stupid'?!" Charles was startled, brows raised. _

_ "Yeah?..." if Pierre's hand was free he would scratch his head looking anywhere but the other's face. _

_ "I think I'll try to catch some air outside," he basically jumped out of the bed, leaving a heartbroken friend behind. _

_ No surprise, he wasn't coming back that night. Or any night. _

Pierre wasn't answering. Not because he didn't want to. Oh, he wanted to tell so much and more, to embrace Charles, see him alongside every night... He shook his head grudgingly.

"I was just drunk, you know. When I left the kitchen I just gulped down some wine. Or whatever there was with alcohol in it, I don't remember, it was a long time ago."

_ How about telling the truth? _

"So yeah, I'm fine."

"No, you're not! You can say anything to me, any-thing. Do you hear me? I'd neither judge you nor pressure you for the answer. Take your time. Say whatever you're holding in at any time," he hugged Pierre tightly, trying to give as most reassurance and support as he could. Unfortunately, that didn't prevent tears from forming behind him.

_ You've lost your moment, Pierre  _ was bashing his head like a hammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, French translations as promised:
> 
> Quoi?! - What?!  
> Pierre, merci beaucoup, je sais pas ce que je ferais sans toi - Pierre, thank you, I don't know what I would do without you
> 
> ...Any wishes, ideas, thoughts? I'm still unsure about almost any word typed so


	4. Realize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is a very stupid boy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two things to be sorry about. Firstly, I'm sorry I haven't posted the chapter earlier. Like two people who actually care to read this deserve the whole thing. I had to proofread it and also to push through the last chapters which are heavy... Yeah sorry in advance. Secondly, Charles is gonna be like REALLY stupid and I'm sorry for that too.
> 
> But yeah, enjoy. French translations are at the end.

They got back home along with the sun hugging the sea line, pouring bright red all over the sky. All three were blissfully tired like kids who swam for an entire day, imitating some sea creature who can't leave the water since they wouldn't survive otherwise.

Laughing loudly, they bashed their door in with bags full of food. It was a bizarre habit of theirs - they liked doing something as simple as doing groceries, it was refreshing and  _ ordinary _ . Unquestionably, none of them would have nor time nor opportunity for it, especially Charles who was, well, famous. He relucted this word even though some parts of its definition were sweet - he genuinely adored all the support he had from  _ his Tifosi.  _ However, having a recognizable appearance meant difficulty in talking with anyone for no reason. Just because they both would like each other and would spend some time in front of a TV screen or wandering around in some park. Sure, he had his friends on paddocks, he had Pierre... What about Anthoine? He didn't either care or know at his moment _. _

"I hope you won't destroy this kitchen once again trying to make something out of the things we've bought." Anthoine chuckled ironically, waving his hand towards the mess they left in the morning. Having a remote and tranquil place meant no other people and, subsequently, no cleaning.

The other Frenchman exhaled sharply and murmured, "Desolé ! I'll clean this up".

"You mean 'we'?" supportive hand gently squeezed his shoulder, face radiating a soft charming grin. 

No matter what, Charles' support always felt like an intravenous energy injection spreading all the way in his body.

"Exactly," he smiled back uncontrollably.

"Also, we'll help with dinner! Safety concerns." Anthoine tried its best to hold a straight face.

All of them liked cooking to some extent. Their abilities weren't Michelin level, but simple pasta with some tomato sauce splattered on someone's shirt (un)intentionally was just up their league and their mood. Even better with wine.

Losing breath from loud bright laughing Charles exclaimed:

"Wait, you have tomato sauce on your cheek!" he almost grabbed Anthoine's face drunkenly, slowly forgetting why he did so. Their eyes met with unanimous "oh, fuck", "what the fuck" and "wait a minute". The Monégasque's hand was way too reluctant to let go as if it was superglued to the other's face. 

_ Now I'm the one who'll get hurt from this, well deserved, Charles. _

_ I've never considered how beautiful his eyes are... Wait, what? _

"You two, what about the pasta I ordered you to cook?" rang in their ears making them startle. Leclerc quickly lifted his hand, rushing to drain the spaghetti. The one with previously sauce splattered smirk stood noiseless either dismayed or shocked which he was still investigating in his mind. It felt electrifying for both of them despite the fact one was helping the other to fall asleep by _holding his hands in the bed. There's not a lot of things closer than that_. 

They had a marvellous dinner. Thankfully, two stumbled over each other's faces boys hadn't overcooked the pasta, and the main dish came out rather tasty, young men were somewhat bewildered. Now the time to clean up... They just might throw it all except the wine glasses in the sink and forget about it till tomorrow, it's their holidays at the end of the day.

The sun has stepped aside a long time ago, giving a clear way to Madonna lily-white full Moon. Their ranted house was fairly remotely placed, which allowed the skies to present its entire cosmic might, doused with millions of tiny colourful specks. Regrettably, Pierre wasn't in the fitting mood to grasp the beauty; he was fondling with his phone in contacts, sitting on the balcony alone with wine leftovers in the glass. Why? He didn't know precisely, yet he could reckon he needed to digest the day. 

"What's to digest - you fucking  _ failed _ ." the Frenchman exhaled to himself.

Now he was fully stuck with this non-reciprocal feeling to this stupidly pretty and dumbly blind Monégasque. He could've expressed a lot today, maybe, just  _ maybe _ , that could've sparked at least something in this fluffy dark-brown haired racing head. Yet, he didn't say a thing. Well, he could've been as well rejected  _ again _ , so maybe it happened for the better? Maybe it's time to  _ move on _ ? He glanced on the contacts, exhausted and empty, and got up.

This previously mentioned Monégasque was currently brushing his teeth, contemplating something as well. Something, however, Pierre wouldn't particularly like. 

_ Est-ce que je l'aime, ou quelque chose comme ça? Putain. _

He sobered up as fast as this thought woke him up. It was... New. New and scary. He didn't even know whether he would fall asleep by himself at this point. Not only because of sleep violating anxiety but because of... What exactly? Wouldn't be the most desirable plan to put under fire his rest though, the post-wine headache wasn't worth it. He breathed out perplexed and tired and head back to the main room.

Anthoine was the most sensible one. He was half-laying on the sofa and downing wine waiting for Charles. No one was asking him for it, but he got accustomed to the fact that he'd end up not alone in his bedroom, so what was the point in going solo. Besides, he wanted to discuss something before sobering up and falling asleep, if he dared, while the wine was still helping.

"Hey, rising beauty, have you done with the bath?" slurred out clearly loaded Frenchman.

Charles almost startled hearing the phrase, which now he started to overthink. 

"Yeah... Why do you ask?" he asked slightly cautiously being less drunk than his friend.

"I was just waiting for you to go to bed... Sorry, that sounded not how I intended it to be..." Anthoine managed to get half of his body up, now sitting straight, yet not very sturdy.

After reflections in front of a bathroom glass, the phrase radiated strongly with Charles resuming in flushed cheeks and doubting expression. He tried not to show it much though, chuckling sheepishly.

"Thought so, don't worry, let's just go to sleep, can't "wait" for tomorrow's hangover," he spat out willing to switch the topic.

A young man on the sofa observed an almost empty wine bottle, almost oblivious, "you're right..."

He frantically tried to raise his body up in one attempt, which he failed quite miserably and expectedly. Almost instinctively, Charles sprinted towards him to back him up (well, not that he would've raced towards anyone with such velocity). He was continuously blaming his half-drunk mind for noticing how toned Anthoine’s body was while holding him and leading towards the bedroom, attempting to act normal. The other freed himself from holding hands and turned back to face still slightly blushing Charles which made the latter stop. Even though the eyes were cloudy, Charles could clearly see something new sparking in them. Something lurking and almost questioning, something that made them point straight to the ochre splashed ones in front. Something intimidating and yet... Inviting and gravitating? Following this lodestone-like feeling he drew a bit closer, his mind restlessly wandering, heart wanting to jump out. Swiftly built wires were cut by Pierre entering the room, signing. 

"Bonne nuit mes amis," he exclaimed contemporaneously relieved and weighted on the shoulders, noticing the somewhat compromising position of his two friends.

"Meme a toi !" Charles mumbled smiling warmly and a bit confusingly, which made Pierre's nose almost itchy from the upcoming tears.

He wanted to move on and just go to his room, but Charles read his weary look and went up to hug him tightly. He breathed in Charles' t-shirt before reluctantly letting him go and opening his bedroom door, while Charles was coming back to Anthoine to guide the intoxicated man in the right direction.

As his usual self, who was never able to deal with emotional matters, Charles wasn't inclined to talk. On one hand, he needed to talk about it, on the other - there was panic. 

_ Should I lastly get over this paralysing anxiety already and go to my own room? This is incredibly stupid, you're a grown man. It's wrong, you're both friends. At least supposed to be. _ _   
_ He could feel his face wincing as this mind-train crossing his neurons over and over again. As if to object his first thought Anthoine, whom the Monégasque previously counted soundly asleep, spoke up:

"Have you ever... It sounds so weird, but while I'm a bit braver I must ask. Have you ever considered other men attractive? Not like mates and friends do, you know?" Anthoine rolled on his side and looked up to Charles, almost audibly trying to convey a bit of a more specific phrase. The asked one, however, was desperately trying to escape his gaze. His heart as if on the clock significantly increased its rate to the point that he could almost detect its sound which only rattled poor Monégasque, yet he needed to answer:

"I, uh, I don't know... I mean not that I don't know what you're talking about at all, but I don't know really..."  _ can you even convey proper sentences, Charles, the hell's wrong with you? _

Usually, especially in the first nights, he would almost pull Anthoine's shirt in an attempt to be as close as he could be to him, almost like a scared child gripping adult's hand when he's petrified by something, This night, however, he placed his hands on his torso, which couldn't escape other’s sight.

"Sorry, Charles, I shouldn't have asked... I see you're uncomfortable, I'm just drunk, that’s all," he rolled on his back and sighed deeply.

With adrenalin shot produced by his glands, Charles speedily yet softly took French hand.

"It's not because of you, no! It's just me overthinking everything, don't take the blame on yourself, please," this time he forced his reddened face to turn towards the other. Even in the dim moonlight, Anthoine could see his face - subtle smile playing on his lips, almost apologetically raised fluffy brows with eyes holding warmth in them,  _ even though Charles could swear he was going to throw up and blackout right there. _

Nonetheless, the warmth was genuine, which drew Anthoine closer anew. A welcoming expression became mixed with confusion even though Charles didn't make any move to distance himself, which the other considered encouraging to reduce an already small gap between them. Charles wanted genuinely  _ fly away  _ anywhere he could for most parts of his thinking process, however, some tiny little bit was hindering it and making him hold Anthoine's hand even tighter. So that wine-infused adrenaline would find its use before wearing off, Frenchman closed the tiniest gap and pressed his lips against Charles'. He kissed him almost intimidated, softly, as if he didn't want to put any pressure on something fragile and precious. What he most certainly didn't expect though was kissing back - as unsure as to his own. They parted instantaneously and Anthoine slowly put his head on young driver's chest, wrapping hands around the torso, which was answered by hugging and welcoming hand placed on his own back. Both had to reflect, therefore they let the silence fall over them, which then calmly transcribed into sleep.

***

"WAKE UP SLEEPY HEADS!" Pierre slammed _their_ room's door open already dressed. Last night when he had left the balcony, he _actually_ had decided to move on. Since they haven't seen anyone but each other for the past week or so, part of unspecified with his own brain plan was a visit to another city. Well, a town. A very small and an authentic one so that they could cross it on their feet easily. Furthermore, while he had the motivation for it, it was obligated to be translated into the benefit. A nice shake-off and refreshment for his mind. They both could find their own separate happiness. _Still, would be reasonable to take into account an unexpected yet... Let's call it a pleasant dm from a fellow soon-to-be teammate driver._

"What the... Have you brought an extra Red Bull supply and gulped it just before barging in here?!" Charles wished he could properly shift from a somewhat compromising position he was in, nevertheless, numb half of his body wouldn't agree with that decision. 

Pierre was surprised himself. Psychology is an extraordinary thing - if you find the exact words your mind demands (subconsciously of course), it would do what you need it to. Apparently, stubborn self-therapy sessions were enough to boost his will to look forward. At least for today, which was already better than it had been last year.

He dodged the exclamation: "I just really want to go out today! To a town, we have one in like 300 kilometres or something. Wouldn't it be a cool idea?!"

Finally, climbed out from underneath of Anthoine's half-asleep body, Charles scratched his head:

"Wait... Why haven't we done that already? That's a pretty good idea, you always come up with something cool," the young dishevelled man gave him a warm sleepy grin.

For the first time in quite a while, something really switched in Pierre, and he genuinely smiled back, not overthinking that " _ it's not the way he would've dreamed of Charles smiling at him".  _

_ Am I finally crawling out of this? _

"Thanks! And now, get your sleepy asses up and let's get going!" He basically jumped out of the room.

"What's up with him?" mumbled Anthoine sleepily yet almost amusingly.

"I don't know... But I don't remember him being this excited for quite some time," he was warmly eyeing the room's exit not even wandering how much their talk helped Pierre. He could call him a brother almost, so as long as the Frenchman felt happy - he was happy as well. Only after a couple of moments, he was brought back into the reality of resting convoluted with Anthoine.

"I, ahem, we should get going too," he spoke up awkwardly.

***

It was a fiery quarrel on who would drive. Not a thoughtless argument, to be frank - they chose a stunning Lamborghini Aventador SVJ Roadster. A V-12 powered beast resembling a fantastic fighter jet was surely a worthy prize. Moreover, it didn’t have a roof which allowed sitting however you fancy, particularly in the countryside where no one ever cared, yet it still was a two-seater. Due to some inexplicable logic to all, they had conceded erroneously while picking the model that they wouldn't need for all three of them to go anywhere apart from the airport to which they would take a taxi. Now they reaped what they have sown.

Each one objected the idea of sitting on other's lap for different reasons but in the end, Anthoine insisted on sitting on Charles' lap whereas Pierre was more than glad to drive. 

As for Charles... He should've thought slightly faster while options were still available. In the car, he was  _ tense -  _ Anthoine was leaning towards him conspicuously, clearly having some deduction made out of their behaviour, while Charles being his true self was absolutely confounded on what was happening both around him and in his cerebra. On one hand, he had felt something the night before. On the other, he was still unable to neither formulate it nor accept it. Morbidly, he couldn't put away the look of utter regret and fear in Pierre's eyes from that night several years ago, which was partly restraining him. Plus, relationship in general, not even mentioning that there is another man involved, is  _ a fucking petrifying thing to handle.  _ Especially to someone like Charles.

_ "I either push people away or they'll get hurt"  _ cradled in restless Monégasque head for the first time in quite a while. Amazing timing.

Just in time, The Racing Spirit of Gasly caused them all three to jump up slightly on a curb which brought suddenly fatigued brunette into reality. 

"Man, we're not on a racing track!" Anthoine yelled through wind slicing his breathing.

Previously contemplating his feeble problem management dark-haired man turned to Pierre. He seemed cool and quite satisfied with himself, slight smirk emerging. Exactly a day ago he was on the verge of tears from some internal conflict, how was this possible? Was he trying to overcome something by a somewhat forced behaviour? He shook his head, resisting any other thought assaulting his head, addressing the landscape instead.

The Frenchman was rushing the Aventador through a picturesque coastal road, squished tightly between eternal marine azure and a blend of vertiginous mountains and sweet towns, which were replacing one another along their journey. Breathtaking image. Charles even ceased to overthink every move Anthoine was making sitting on his lap.

Pierre glanced over GPS on the panel, "I think we can stop in the next city, it seems quite small."

"Good idea, my legs will soon go numb," Charles chuckled.

***

No one had really paid attention to the town's name on the sign (it was Fontvieille commune), anyhow, that didn't carry weight. The atmosphere, however, mattered and was defectless. It was afternoon, and gleaming and not harsh by now sun on a clear soft blue sky was flooding the town with a delicate warm light, making it fabulous. They parked the car on the periphery and went on foot. As any respectable little French village, Fontvieille was offering you a picturesque stone mastery wrapped in olive-trees, oaks and pines. 

"Magnifique! We really needed some fresh air." Charles sighed with content looking around.

"It's a pity though we haven't thought for at least three seats in a rented car," Pierre looked over at the other two with a giggle, having a smirk from Anthoine and confusion from Charles in return. He was still jittery over everything that has sparked between him and Anthoine and couldn't process it.

Strategical thinking in spite of fried brain cells was still there, unfortunately, so he not only put his hands in pockets but also moved to go alongside Pierre so the latter was in the middle now. Anthoine was almost hurt by it since this move contradicted basically everything Ferrari driver was doing before.

" _ Fine then, _ " he thought to himself and huffed agitated.

After an hour or so of random wandering, they suddenly realised that none of them had any breakfast whatsoever, which their stomachs were incredibly upset about.

"God, we need to eat something." escaped three mouths simultaneously.

***

"So, where should we sit?" Anthoine hinted, noticing a table crunched between two cafe sofas, which would be almost small for two people to seat on one, yet you could still manage if you'd be sitting  _ very close. _

Instinctively, Charles looked at Pierre to save him, but he was invested in the menu given by a waiter.

"Uh... We can seat there." he pointed hesitantly to a three-side round table with chairs placed around.

_ "Jesus Christ, is this me who understood everything wrong or what?"  _ Anthoine enquired his own mind putting a bit crooked smile on.

"Okay, no problem!" 

_ "I shouldn't push it, let's just have a great day, all three of us."  _ Frenchman reasoned with himself, deciding to finally take a seat at the table and look through the menu. And yet, a scanty pang hanged over. Thankfully, he was still starving.

"I.Want. Chips. The more - the better." Charles stated very assertively.

He was greeted with "you're such an idiot, Charles" look, even though they ended up ordering all three a plentiful mountain of chips. Maybe that was what they needed - shake off pretentious confidence, vexatious self-interrogation or internal crisis with something both simple and almost ridiculous, their diets considered. At least for a couple of hours while they were sitting in a homely cafe, which might've just run out of cooking oil. 

Eventually, they were brought back into reality by their completely full stomachs.

***

"I found a park on the map with a panoramic view, maybe we should take a look before heading back?" Charles proposed suddenly when they came out of the bistro.

"Yeah, would be fitting to lose some of what we've just devoured," Anthoine pinched Pierre on the side to which he squealed.

"Hey! I'm racing fit!" he protested setting his posture to sprint.

"Wait, where the hell are you going?! You don't even know where the park is!" Charles uttered promptly, trying to catch up the Frenchman.

Breathing heavily through subtle tittering they threw their bodies on the bench of the park.

"Wait, where's Anthoine?" Charles turned his head around, hands running through the hair in a comb-like manner.

"He'll get there, I'm just a very fast runner." he bumped other's shoulder jokingly.

Charles huffed under his unstable breathing and leaned back. It really was a stunning view, feedback on google maps wasn't kidding. Emeritus oaks and pines were framing the sight, making it more surreal. Houses built in warm stone were sprawling out below the hill, weaving miraculously with nature's green. A painter would create a landscape of oil and canvas, a poet would dedicate a verse.

Ochre peppered eyes were directing the view with less of poetic inspiration, howbeit admiring up until the point Pierre turned to him, expecting attention. 

"Was that actually intentional?" Charles turned reluctantly to him.

Pierre sighed uncomfortably "...Kind of? What's up with you and Anthoine?"

_ Was it that conspicuous?  _

He held breath for a while, trying to either answer or find sense in his thoughts.

"I don't... I don't know, why do you ask?"

Pierre huffed almost laughing in disbelief. 

"You were eye-undressing each other yesterday while almost ruining our dinner and now you're, well, quite literally escaping him." He waved his head slightly to the pavement they ran, Anthoine still catching on them.

Pierre wrinkled his nose ever so slightly at his own words. Maybe that was somewhat harsh, yes. There's a big "but" though - consoling incredibly terrified of his own feelings towards another man Charles was  _ not helpful  _ with "Moving on" plan proceeding. He sensed old reactions and behaviours fighting way back, overthinking of the words, a lachrymose mindset of "never getting a happy ending". 

_ Okay, no. I must help my best friend.  _ He almost whispered it.

Thinking through what Pierre had said haven't helped with the answer. Or with his mind. It went to a panicking mode for no reason and Charles didn't know why.

_ Fine, even if I actually like Anthoine, what's so anxiety igniting here?  _ He sighed only more troubled.

"I don't know!" young Monegasque yelled causing both of them to startle.

"It's just... Whenever he does something ambiguous I get really scared, I know why he does that and I wish I could answer properly, but I can't..." he blurted out eventually, taking no pause.

Pierre's gaze fixated on a poor man with head buried in his hands, body close to shaking. He froze for a second too, both confused and concerned. The only fast action he could offer was a soft gentle pat on the back with eyes still fixed on the hands hiding the profile.

"Hey, Charles... Everything's okay, I'm sure you can discuss anything that's on your mind with Anthoine. Seeing how he gazes at you makes me sure that he'll understand. Whatever it is. If anything, I'm also still there, you know that." The last phrase sounded slightly off, yet he meant it. Yes, he was trying to get over his feeling, yes, Charles finding someone would help  _ a lot.  _ Maybe one would call it selfish, but Pierre still wanted his  _ best friend  _ to be happy. It's an inseparable concoction at this point.

Charles finally raised his head slightly, huddling a bit the Frenchman.

"I guess you're right... I really should talk with him, shouldn't I? Thank you for standing this word rubbish." He shook his head cheerlessly.

"Anytime, Charles. I'm your best friend after all. I want you to be happy." His heart fought with his head belligerently.

"FUCK YOU GUYS! Why have you left me there, I could've been lost trying not to lose sight of you..." Anthoine showed up behind them, panting.

On spur of moment, the whole situation became hilarious and both men on the bench couldn't hold in a laugh, which reverberated amongst trees and seemed like through air itself.

"Idiots..." standing man couldn't help but chuckle along.

***

It was way past midnight when they came back home. All three of them were exhausted, and the only thing they could crave was sleep. Or bed at least. Whose bed though was still in question for one of them having his fight-or-flight response still on a flight side even after a reasonable talk with Pierre earlier. It was somewhat easier to not sort your feelings out and burry them, at least for Charles. Especially after a trauma. Acknowledging the last part, however, would help everyone.

Quite unfortunately for Anthoine, who threw himself already on the bed, desperately although poorly, pulling a blanket with one hand because using two would be too much effort. Finally, the blanket was conquered and the driver settled in comfortably just in time for Charles to show up in the doorway. He looked somewhat troubled.

"Oh, hi, I just got to bed." Anthoine tentatively patted a side of his bed still laying on the stomach. He wasn't entirely sure whether Charles would stay, having the whole day avoiding him for an unknown reason.

"About that... I thought I should try to sleep in my own room today? It has nothing to do with you." he stammered, guilt weighing on his chest. 

_ Yes, we should talk, but not today. _

Anthoine looked more confused than hurt.

"Um... Okay, if you need anything or want to come back - I'm here. Sorry, I don't know why I said that." despite slight ache to his chest his cheeks couldn't help but blush a bit.

Poorly managing himself Monégasque only smiled softly in return and headed to his own room. 

***

Uninhabited room greeted him coldly with lights switched off and sheets untouched. Sure, he left his stuff there, but they were still only partially unpacked. Charles hesitated before stepping in, some weird sense crawling in. 

He regained some sense and got into bed. Whether he was an indecisive idiot or not, he needed sleep.

He didn't know what he was thinking when saying that he would try his own room for once - he had known that wouldn't have worked even before asking. Now in a lonely and seemingly unpleasant chamber he was paying for an incredibly ill-conceived "suggestion" by wide-open eyes and sleep not found anywhere around.

After two hours wasted away, he pushed the blanket away and left crumpled sheets for something to drink. Something preferably alcoholic, thankfully there was a lot left. At this point even the thought of giving up and going to Anthoine became sickening, fresh night air on a balcony looked like a better choice.

It was almost a pity none of them sat outside during this time of night - you could sense somehow the upcoming morning, yet it was still dark and starry above you. Both the worst and the best time to get philosophical with one's self. Staring unfocused at a glass of whiskey, which copper shade was diluted by the setting moon's cold light, Charles gave in to his current anxieties.

He let out a deep breath.

"Okay. You do feel something about Anthoine, stop saying you don't. But why the fuck you're so scared about it?"

He took a bigger sip, hands stiff.

"Yeah, he's not... A girl. Sure, but it's 2019, there's no problem with that. Even more so, with Pierre that wasn't the thing that scared me."

Momentarily, he froze. Spiked realisation mixed with a spike finding his heart. He did love a boy. Platonically, yet passionately. And that killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Est-ce que je l'aime, ou quelque chose comme ça? Putain. - Do I love him or something? Fuck.


	5. Enjoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one. A chapter of new beginnings which won't find a happy ending. My personal favourite amongst all chapters. If you want a happy ending you can stop here ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a bit of French slipped in, so I'll translate it at the end notes.

Anthoine yawned, stretching his body to brush away the night stiffness. Almost as a habit already he turned to the side to find out that he was alone. Only then have he remembered last night and, most importantly, that Charles hadn't been here during the night. Both slight grudge and worry lingered in his chest which made him get up swiftly, he didn't even care to move the curtains.

The spacious living room was soaked in the almost careful pastel morning light which was waking up as well, still getting its usual strength and warmth. After a room with drapes over windows the man had to squint, giving himself a moment to adjust the eyes. The first thing he noticed afterwards was Charles - a cup of something steaming placed on the kitchen table, an empty small plate sprinkled with some crumbles. Monégasque himself had the phone close to the drink, a slouched figure was drawn to artificial cold light from the screen.

"Charles?... Already awake?" Anthoine fought an urge to yawn and stretched again.

The man questioned remained silent and only then had he noticed white AirPods. He came up to him and removed one of them, asking again.

Man sitting flinched, giving Anthoine the idea that he had been there for a while now. It's only 9 am, when did Charles wake up then? Has he even slept at all?

"Did you have any sleep tonight?" he asked, voice still hoarse.

"I had... Some, I think." Charles rubbed his eyes vigorously blinking multiple times after it, still struggling with drowsiness.

After closing the fridge with fingers around a juice container, Anthoine went up to him for examination. God, he looked awful. Sure, Charles' hair was always tousled but it was a record reaching explosion. When he looked up, tiny blood vessels around greenish iris became exaggerated and made a worrying image coupled with dark circles and some puffiness.

"Merde... I don't think you had any, Charles. You look ghastly."

Charles suddenly dropped his head, the body started to tremble a little. The shine of white glass table became distorted with tears reflecting the light.

"H...Honey, what is it? Have I said something?" they never gave each other nicknames, they never talked about it either, but Anthoine felt it would sound soothing.

"No-no, it's not about you. I mean it is, but not in this sense. I'm such an idiot..." he covered his face.

"Share it with me then."

"I can't. I don't know how. And it's stupid." The last part slipped out of Charles' lips under the breath.

"It's not stupid. Okay, I'll start the real conversation here. I pretty much think I like you, so you this distressed makes my heart tighten. Talk to me, Charles, please."

Hiding "I don't deserve such people" in his breath Charles tried to continue:

"I'm scared. I'm scared for both no reason and because of being faced with the scariest thing in my life." he looked up, eyes glistening with despair, hurt and guilt.

Anthoine didn't answer, suggesting him to continue.

"I felt similar things I'm feeling about you before. Once I was... Careful enough to push him away, the other one though... Not as careful I suppose."

"Oh, Charles..."

"You see? If I let myself feel affection, it'll get you hurt. If I let myself love you... You will die." the phrase in a low, shaky voice was followed by a sharp hitching exhale.

_ "Non, non, NON, JULES, NON!" he cried out loud when everyone finally left him alone. He was standing in the middle of the room unmovable, emotions locking him still. _

_ "Please, live." _

_ Today he got some free time to watch the F1 race. To expect his eyes betray him and switch to Marussia's car. I mean, obviously, he would check on how Jules is doing in the race. That's definitely the only reason his eyes would search for his name in the standings. At least he tells it to Jules. Not to himself, though. He can neither deny it nor say out loud. He's his godfather for god's sake. _

" _ I will say it, I will tell you how I feel, just live. Please. _ "

"...Just live." Charles murmured with eyes closed, eyelashes were still wet and stuck together.

Anthoine carefully moved closer, wrapping his hands around the weakened man and placing the chin on top of the other's head. Charles moved into the motion slightly, trying to quiet down how shaky he became.

They let silence soak the room for some time, both needed to think. The man standing felt he ought to be the one to break it.

"I know it must've been traumatic to you... Yet I do have feelings for you, and you, considering how you were sleeping alongside me 'just because you can't fall asleep alone', you're not exactly indifferent either." He explained, voice being soothing and understanding.

Charles' mind though wasn't soothed at all. It was a mess. A conflict upon conflict. Fear. Flight. Just burry it and forget it. That's how you made it work, right?

No. Not this time. He shook his head, trying to physically dump all anxieties out like a bin.

"You... You're right." He raised his head which instantly caught the other's attention.

"About?..."

"I feel something for you. Otherwise, I wouldn't be this scared." He bit his lip.

Words didn't want to form sentences. The tongue was weighed with stones which made talking highly difficult. However, he was thinking lately that he might've been unfair to himself, closing the door like this to potential happiness. Maybe... Just maybe he could have it? With Anthoine? Not the first choice, but hey, feelings don't operate with logic. Anthoine could catch an intricate thinking process so he let the time pass. Finally, Charles found the words.

"But I suppose... We could try? Try to go on with whatever this is?"  _ Yeah, Charles, you couldn't word it any fucking worse. _

The other sniffed slightly, trying to fight an urge to cry. He's 22 and he never loved. And now he got it both ways with Charles Leclerc. Not his idol... But someone who was a true inspiration for him. Something in their brains wasn't believing it.

When their eyes met each other it was a matter of seconds before their lips met. Sure, they had kissed before, but now it was something different. A teenage kiss, when longing defeats fear even though you're sweating like it's boiling hot outside. Once they parted their lips met again, this time with more confidence, slower and easier, with hands finding their place on other's cheek or waist. Having a bit more experience - even though with girls - Charles pulled Anthoine closer first mixing a deeper kiss with a loving hug.

_ It feels so right to let my fear go. _

***

Pierre was never a fan of getting up immediately after waking up. Morning bed is the best place to check on your socials and sent messages. A warm grin appeared on his lips, the look became warmer when he opened the dialogue:

Daniil: Morning sleepyhead :3 When are you all coming back? I can't wait to see you!

Daniil Kvyat. Weird that that was someone who would help him climb over a fence with "Charles" scratched on it. Not only that... They were having something. And it was  _ mutual.  _ Sun's warmth could compare with the one building in his chest from this thought. Thankfully, there was only a couple of days left in the villa. Finalement. Grumbly stomach reminded him that unfortunately, the world was bigger than this moment and he did need to get up. 

"Oh, what early birds you two!" Pierre chuckled as he noticed the two other men sitting closely at the kitchen table.

Hiding giggling he added: "So, you lot have finally turned on your brains and talked with each other?"

This sheepish expression of Charles' was worth the question undoubtedly, Pierre thought.

"We are!" Anthoine pulled Monégasque in a side hug and gifted him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Awww, you're utterly adorable!" Pierre couldn't help but grin both happily and a bit cunningly to the way Charles reacted.

"And what about you? Don't tell me there's nothing hidden behind that smirk you had before noticing us." Slightly clumsy Charles really wanted to change the subject.

"Okay, fine, I was chatting for a while in bed... With a special someone."

"What's her/his name then?!" Escaped Anthoine's and Charles' mouths.

"Wait, his?!" Anthoine exclaimed surprised.

"Oh boy, you're here for a story. We need breakfast for it."

They needed it. To share it all, to enjoy the moment.

_ To feel content for each other, starting with oneself. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merde - shit (yeah very important)
> 
> Lmao I thought there was more but no


	6. React

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable happens. Charles pulls through or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, hi. I liked the chapter when it was firstly written but now I;m close to hating it, HOWEVER, it's still an essential one where the whole life shows a "fuck you" to the main character...
> 
> twitter - @_tanynova_

Spa. Very exciting race. Not only that - the break had come to an end! Even though he was now much more willing to live outside the paddock - thanks, Anthoine - his veins were still powered by Formula One and pure speed. He couldn't stop his mind from slipping slightly to the imagery of him competing with Anthoine in F1 one day... That would be something else. 

Speaking of the Frenchman, Charles suddenly remembered he needed to wish good luck to him. His bubbly and hyped self didn't mind at all all the looks given when he was heading to Anthoine's team and their garage with the only thing on his mind being... Some sort of mess. It was still worrisome - this constant will to protect and remind to "stay safe". As they say - "Been there, seen that, doesn't end well". Anyway, they both were  _ trying  _ to avoid being too stupid, so one day it should go away. Buried in those thoughts, Monégasque didn't notice how he reached the destination.

Anthoine noticed him standing outside and ran to the door with a slight frown of surprise on his face. Instead of "hi" first thing Charles did was a barely yet still palatable kiss on the cheek and a hug - they were dating for a countable number of days, the longing for anything physical was very strong. As strong as a simple desire to see this incredibly cute oval countenance framed by very French curls. He could melt in this picture but was pulled out of it.

"You're still sweaty and in your race suit, what are you doing here, love?" Anthoine was more amused than concerned.

"I, uh... I just felt like wishing you good luck before the race. Well... Good luck!" Charles waved hands not knowing what else he could add. Mind, as pre-seen, became a clusterfuck of words and thoughts, so sticking to one main idea worked the best (even though horribly).

Frown transformed into the eyebrows raised, eyes very fond of this slightly dumb but very loving gesture.

“My dear… Thank you! I don't think I'll have any time until evening but we're surely going to celebrate your pole. I'm so proud of you," Anthoine murmured looking straight to the green ochre tinted eyes in front of him, almost physically feeling eyes sending affection.

Charles pulled Anthoine in a tight hug instead of a thank you, a lump in his throat forming.

"See you soon," he whispered.

"See you, watch me later overtaking in Eau... Raidillon!" earned a proud smirk from Charles.

***

Charles was giving his usual rows of interviews in three languages, all the same - pole, how he was feeling after the break, Giada... No one would ever blurt out easily in F1 that not only he broke up, but also that he is with another man, so he had a list of phrases in mind prepared. As his logical part of the brain connected to his mouth was mumbling all the same words, pupils framed by vivid bluish-green were ever so often looking over the interviewers at the screens with  _ his  _ Anthoine. He didn’t know whether he was proud or worried, yet his stomach was growly and not from hunger. In one instant moment, a growl turned into an astringent stabbing pain.

***

He needed to do his best. If he was the best, he would be so proud of himself. Charles would be proud. He would be noticed by the right people. That's how F2 driver lives. "Get noticed by your successes". 

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Anthoine couldn’t wait for the lights to go out. 

He was going in a decent position, but there was Eau Rouge ahead. He's focused, even though there's still traffick around in the early hours of the race and other drivers could be deceived by lower grip in Raidillion. Alesi isn't an exception, which makes Boschung slow down. Anthoine is a victim of the timing, nevertheless, he instinctively fast tries to avert them both and almost manages it. He couldn't manage to avoid the tyre barrier.

_ Merde! Now my race is over, for fuck’s sake. _

His Arden spun and now points to the track, he looks back to the Belgian asphalt arches. Juan hasn't noticed him behind the curve.

It takes seconds for the pain and G force to glut him. Image is blurring, he's exhausted.

_ I need some rest. _

Eyes closed as heavy as metal safe doors.

***

Charles could hear a French commentator swiftly spouting words.

_ Giuliano Alesi slips on track (lower grip coming to Raidillion), goes back to the track, Boschung slows down to the runoff area, Anthoine doesn't see them early enough, goes urgently to the right but touches Bouschung's Trident, now he's just a passenger, goes into the tyre barrier on the far side of the runoff area, which throws him into a spin and leaves almost still, but pointed to the track, Juan goes to the runoff to avoid the slow down cars, but suddenly Hubert is on his way and... _

It's pure fear that takes away his steadiness, he grips a fence with almost bluish ice-cold palms. Just like Charles felt a couple of weeks ago a genuine soothing warm spreading from his heart, he felt the diametrical opposite now. Coldness, sharp and bitter, chasing his heart with icy spikes of fear. It's not there yet, but his heart envisions the worst.

"Not another one, no!" escapes his breathless pale lips in front of a Sky F1 microphone.

He hears distant " Charles' " behind him to finish his social media duties, but his brain skipped them. His mind is restlessly focused and petrified until it would reach its own shock death. The medical centre, they probably took him to the medical centre. Firstly, we go to the medical centre. 

_ I can't go through this again. _

He shook his head to expel it.

***

It’s almost surreal to see people already gathered in front of the door behind which _his_ _boyfriend_ was in critical condition. How long it took Charles to find the centre? Pierre stood ashen-faced, cold dampen artificial light adding deadliness to his features, back against the wall. Esteban was fumbling with his white silver arrowed t-shirt, unreadable expression plastered on his stiff face. Evidently and expectedly they had neither strength nor will to talk. The rest of the drivers and other staff who came around were exchanging in lower voices, some of them overlooking the French and the door.

Kimi was the first who noticed the Monégasque approaching little crowd and nudged Seb's shoulder slightly, who was sitting close to him. 

Charles felt the crowd quite, most of the people averting from whoever they were talking to him. 

It's not that people knew they were  _ a thing,  _ but rumours have been circling. Charles wasn't ready to face them yet, having their weight onerous for his shoulders. He begs the fucking skies to give him a chance to deal with this. 

Well, some knew. Sebastian and Kimi were almost a father figures for him so they knew the situation at least in general. Esteban looked like he overheard some of French between him and Pierre, so he might know something.

And, of course, Pierre. He has Daniil. Charles has  _ (...had?)  _ Anthoine. They spill it all, like very good close brothers. The distress and dread they share right now are almost palatable. IS palatable for them both.

Charles practically threw himself on the Frenchman, the latter locking veiny tan hands around the other's torso.

"Is it gonna be fine? Please, Pierre, tell me it’s going to be fine..." reached Pierre's ears.

"It will, eventually it will, mon pote."

***

It felt like hours till a woman dressed in white opened the door of the ER confidently, already heading to somewhere with papers stacked over the wooden dark blue tablet. She waved her hand to show she wouldn't answer their begging questions, so Charles turned his eyes back to the open door. He wriggled through only to be stopped by the doctor.

"I'm his close friend!"

"Let's walkout to discuss." 

The doctor rubbed his nose bridge wearily...

"To put it as simply as I can - Anthoine experienced intense G-forces - around 70G - and... Well, he had bones..."

"W-wait, had?"

"We tried everything we could but the injures were..."

Charles hadn’t caught the ending. He spat it out from his mind like the deadliest poison. It still hurt as if it was him who was dying, not... God, why?

Finally, the news hit Charles. 

Shock. Adrenalin. He felt frozen, burning and paralysed. Legs refused to hold him and he sank hopelessly while Pierre helped him not to just drop. He couldn't do anything, not even breathe. His bluish-green eyes were locked on the dirty beige floor. Just like his soul, stepped over by the universe too many times.

Pain. Eyes shut from acute pain that was close to physical, he could swear that he was holding his chest. The icy spikes that were chasing his brazen foolish heart reached their final destination. It hurt. It fucking hurt so much. He was fooled again. It was a trick, created by this damned and lost cosmos against him, to lure him in and hurt his hopeful naivety that he thought he hid a long time ago. 

And he got caught. Again.

"Charles... We need to go, mon ami, let's get you to the hotel." Pierre was sitting next to one of the closest people in this world for him, feeling all the grief steeping through.

There was no point in staying, they need to leave this place.

Frenchman took the other man gently in his arms, lifting him ever so slightly. He was trembling too, shocked more than anything.

"C'mon, we gotta go..."

Charles hadn’t said a word in return yet he followed the path. Almost like a machine which distinguished two processes - he was struggling to move forward and trying to digest the rest. The mind was akin to a void as if it was glutted at first and then eventually fractured.

***

Sadness. Anger? Emotions. A tear glistened on his hollow pale cheek. Then another. Then he collapsed on the soft hotel room floor, crying tieing him down with razor wire. He was finally alone, he could let it out. 

"It must work now." He choked out between sobs.

He had no ideas what else would.

***

They were tired. Daniil was tired because he couldn't console Pierre. Pierre was tired. Silent endless tears were rolling down his pain-stricken face, eyebrows raised, eyes barely open. Why Charles? Again? They both finally found the brighter path, it seemed like it was  _ destiny. _

_ But it fucking wasn't. _

"Hey, Pear, shouldn't you check on Charles?" Daniil did his best to sound soothing and rubbed the other's back once more.

"How long has it been?"

"Couple of hours."

"Yeah, I need to check on him. He most likely went through first... Reaction? I’m not sure... Maybe he fell asleep, then I wouldn’t even breath around - his sleep is so sensitive. Thank you for being here."

"Sure. I won't leave you here alone today."

"Merci."

*******

He decided he hated the white colour. Why? Because it was the same white he'd been studying for hours while staring at the white - now dimed to marine blue - ceiling of his hotel room. And why did Charles even thought that he'd be able to sleep? He didn't even call Pierre to help him to fall asleep. Well, now the realisation of his stupidity came, mixing with nagging mental pain. He winced, realising that... Firstly, he'd like a drink. Yeah-yeah alcohol doesn't play nice with his skin and weight but it's not really time for that, isn't it? 

Charles Leclerc opened a minibar way too loudly, in which he was glad to find a mini bottle of wine. Wine leaves a long-playing sense of relaxation, especially on an empty stomach, which he was seeking. 

"Do I really need to bother him  _ again _ ?" he breathed out after taking a sip straight from a slightly crooked dark green bottle. After the absolute drain of his mind and soul, he could only take care of falling asleep. 

Sleeping pills? He still had some as a habit, since usually couple nights per week before... all that, demanded some sedatives mixed in his evening routine. Now he didn’t need to get rid of his habit, did he? 

He can't grasp anything. He's so worn out. After emptying the bottle he just drops lifelessly on the bed. Wine kicks in with some sleeping pills and he could drift away seemingly peacefully only to wake up tomorrow to the most morbid reality he could imagine.

***

"Anthoine!" Charles was extracted from his sleep as roughly as his own dehydrated voice sounded.

Again, everything crowded on him the moment he regained consciousness. This  _ shit  _ did happen. He did lose him. And he does need to race.

Che Diavolo.

Every sense in him wasn’t up for... Anything. He wished he could've just stayed here for the whole eternity. At least he wouldn't have to face life.

But even then he got up, grabbed some water and sighed heavily, moving to the bathroom to make himself look more presentable.

It's incredible. Racing has a tremendous impact on drivers. It can devour any fear or anxiety you have. It's almost ludicrous how one moment you may worry over your results, over other people, over losses... And the other you pull on your balaclava only dreaming of getting into your car. Especially when you repress whatever's getting you down. Whatever ties you.

"You're holding on strong."

No, Charles wasn’t holding on strongly. He threw himself into the driver's rush. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to drag himself out of the bed. Who was, in fact, trying to not just break apart was Anthoine's mum and brother. You could see something dying in their eyes, but they hide it behind dark blue bottomlessness of their glasses, not overbearing others. That's what Charles thought was strong. 

Still, this defence is never impeccable - he trembled slightly seeing  _ his  _ helmet on the coal-black supporting fixture. The latter almost consuming the helmet. He stood beside Pierre and they hold each other's hand simultaneously when cameras had moved on. Toro Rosso driver could feel the trembling of the palm he was holding and caressed its veins just slightly.

It helped. A bit. An ominous thought lurked somewhence in his racing mind, in the part that might never let itself be consumed by racing any more... Which was concerning. 

It was contradictory, but even this torture of a day he felt like racing can take everything away. He sank in red, grabbed the wheel and he was the one with the engine, with the roar. As radiating and stinging the pain was poured into his heart, as burning with hunger his eyes were looking at the steering or the track. As if he converted one to another. 

He's on pole. He'll bring this one for Anthoine home. Even if Eau Rouge stabs him every time.

_ "And it's lights out and away we go!" _

Charles put the pedal to the metal, sprinting as fast as the red horse could... An intricate series of corners that play with elevation.

_ "Charles Leclerc leads down to Eau Rouge" _

And he skillfully beat it.

_ "A long lead there for Charles Leclerc" _

While running further and further, his strained knuckles hurt but he didn’t notice. Anything, let alone some knuckles.

_ "And it's Max Verstappen out" _

_ " _ What happened? _ " _

_ "Max is out." _

The ochre of Charles' iris sparkles with malevolent heat.

He didn’t make mistakes. He was akin a robot, a machine put into a machine, forming a perfect duo leading through La Source, Kemmel Straight, Campus, Blanchimont and all over once again. Something incredibly convoluted led him to focus and determination, he wouldn't be able to describe it afterwards.

_ "But Charles can now see the chequered flag and for the first time ever, Charles Leclerc wins the Formula One Grand Prix, Charles Leclerc wins Belgian Grand Prix!" _

As strongly as he wanted to yell, to raise his fist into the air - something prevented this. He briefly lost the reason for it before coming to senses and remembering everything  _ outside  _ the cockpit.

_ "Anthoine Hubert - Rest in Peace; Charles Leclerc - bravo, the winner of the Belgian Grand Prix."  _

He looks up.  _ This one is for you. _

After getting hands patting his shoulder, he tore the helmet off, feeling of its foam too close to his face. It seemed that he switched off from animal-like race mod, toes feeling iron heavy and pinned to the floor. As bizarre and insidious tiredness washed over so as the tears find their way. Charles struggled greatly to keep himself together, ready to burst from... From everything all together! Obviously, it's today when he's able to jump high enough to grip that golden first place in Formula One. Not even a week later -  _ just one day after.  _ As if it's some sort of prerequisite for Charles' success.

"Thank God, if he's even there, I can pull off a proper face. But I'll definitely have a huge breakdown later." the winner almost chuckles crookedly to himself and Pierre congratulating him.

The champagne tasted somewhat bitter, bubbles feel sharp and oil black corner of his weary mind wished they would be more like actual steel cold razors. He didn’t mind it  _ yet _ , he was doing his absolute best to keep going. To lookout for the best. He'd still won his  _ first race in Formula One.  _ That  _ was  _ the thought that warmed up his heart like petrol igniting over the piston in that red beast standing behind a sign with loud "1".

Charles looked up last time: "I will make you proud up there. You all will smile, I'll make sure of it." He took a big sip from the black bottle, sure that he was coping like he's always been able to in his years.

***

As a fellow Francophone and Charles' best friend, Pierre was interviewed more than usual. Which was totally expected, moreover, this  _ unfair  _ move to Toro Rosso he was forced to make was also a lodestone for hungry journalists. His wore down neurons were transmitting one thought only - how is Charles? Pierre was too tired to be annoyed at the media personnel, yet once his duties were over he sprinted to Monégasque’s room. Most likely he would be in his room already since no one would want to spend too much time today in discussions. 

He knocked carefully and heard slow footsteps behind the handle. Charles didn't say a word, but when he saw blue eyes on the other side of the footstep he immediately stepped aside to let Pierre through.

"That is quite a mess of a room..." Pierre thinks to himself.

Indeed, a suitcase was left open with some indistinguishable from one another clothes ruffled on top. Probably, Charles wanted to change but didn't manage to - he was still in red. Pierre rightfully decided not to point it out.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" they sit on the bed's edge leg-to-leg, Pierre's succouring hand trailing over other's back.

“I don’t know." came after solid 5 minutes of stuffy languid silence of the room.

"Oh, my dear..." Pierre took Charles into a tight hug.

"You are very fucking strong, you know that? You have so many things on your shoulders now and in spite of it, you  _ won _ . First time in F1!"

He looked at the Spa’s winner.

"That doesn't mean that you need to hold anything in." he lowered his voice.

And finally, all this heaviness turned into something in Charles' heart. A tear rolled down his cheek, left unhandled and free to go. Pierre let him cry today out. Those were almost... Bittersweet. One painful thought intertwined with radiancy of the other.

"Did they smile? Do they smile up there?"

Pierre searched for an answer.

"Anthoine. Anthoine and Jules. Am I good enough to make them proud?"

"Yes. You are. And they will smile even brighter and wider from up there. I don't just believe in it. I  _ know  _ it." Pierre did feel what he said right down in his heart.

"Thank you, Pierre. Thank you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to, I’ll always be there for you."

When Pierre left, Charles' would have a tremendous headache. Something almost physically scratched from the inside.

_ "Do I really worth it? Is this my destiny to lead people to their grave whilst bringing glory to myself?" _


	7. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monza seems to be a helpful pain relief solution, but is it enough in a long-run?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tWo chapters in one night I'd say it's a treat but not with the shite I write buuuuuuut
> 
> twitter - @_tanynova_

Three days. It has been three days since his "glorious in its tragedy" grasp of yearned golden first place and now he would swear that didn't happen. The only thing that would pester Charles' mind was... What feeling was gripping his soul? Despondence? Desolation?  _ Guilt? _

Charles struggled to live. He knew he should train but his bed degaussed magnets attracted to weights and running shoes. Certainly, that's a  _ normal  _ reaction. After all, how should you react to the loss of a loved one?

It wasn't a helpful thought nonetheless.

Not only that, the cruel brain of his decided to twist the knife by bringing up insomnia. The very first days were draining to the last bit of energy which knocked out consciousness right away once ruffled brunette head touched the white of a pillow. Now, however, languished Monégasque had nothing to put his mind or body into, which meant he couldn't deplete himself, which meant... Another pack of sedatives stopped working. Plus, alcohol  _ shouldn't  _ be an option. He still somewhat cared that it would cause breakouts on his chin. Well, yeah,  _ health.  _ He should care, he guessed.

At the last day before his flight to Italy - he was given some time to regain his calmness - Charles' soul gave up _.  _

_ I won't cope alone. _

***

Pierre now decided running is the worst exercise. Why? Because there's no technique on which Frenchman would be able to concentrate his mind. The mind travelled several days back... Pierre almost stumbled over a bump. Pyry stopped him and ran over, breathing still uneven.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Pierre knew that the answer was negative. He nodded.

"Let's just finish off earlier today."

When he came home, he caught sounds of sizzling - probably Dany decided to cook something. That did help, the fact that his  _ boyfriend  _ (still very new) decided to stay in Monaco with him for a while... 

_ I can't' imagine how Charles is doing there, he's probably alone... _

You might've just believed that the universe is sentient because Pierre's smartphone flared with cold blue of the led screen showing one message:

"Can you come over, please?"

"That's why I stayed in Monaco."

"Thank you."

He didn’t even change from his running wear that he was thinking of throwing in the washbin once he would get up. Pierre just prayed that Charles was fine.

***

Two knocks on the door. Only the realisation that it must be Pierre made nerves in his legs function and transmit electronic pulses. He pulled the door sluggishly not looking through a door viewer.

_ God, he looks dead.  _ Frenchman definitely remembered seeing him leave the plane in that shirt and it's been over three days since that. It was almost impossible to distinguish properly the irises and pupils behind puffy reddish eyelids which somehow are still able to be framed by dark circles. His face expressed something incredibly complex and painful wich someone who hasn't met Charles in person would right off as disinterest.

The thought most likely broke the surface through marine eyes which mirrored in Charles feigned wince.

"No shit I look gone." Escaped his mouth absentmindedly.

"Oh, Charlie..."

The "Charlie" stepped back inside closer to the wall, inviting the latter in. It was blatantly clear why he texted Pierre. Now he just wanted to put him out. He knows what's happening and he won't give in to it. He will seek help before it's too much, yes?

_ *** _

_ The only feeble spark that keeps poor teenager alive is that Jules is in the hospital. "They should take care of him, right? That is the best place while he's in this condition". He calls artificial coma a condition. Hell, the 17-year-old enamoured teenager doesn't give any care for medical correctness. He hasn't given any care for anything for the past month. Or less. Or more. He doesn't really count. Who cares after all? Not Charles. His parents, maybe, but that doesn't stop him from hangouts or excessiveness. At least he can relax with it. Or cry. Or feel at the very least. It's useful to not eat, baggy sweatshirts can cover his cuts. God, he's very stupid. _

_ Pierre is texting him constantly. Teachers are complaining about him failing something (everything). Who cares, they don't know anything. Not even Pierre knows. Until that one time, he and Esteban cornered him and left no choice. Charles would probably end it before July next year if they - Pierre - hadn't done this. _

***

Charles rubbed his hand unconsciously, eyes lost somewhere in the past, while Pierre swept over the flat generally. He had a mental note for a couple of years now that filth from uncared flat creeps into a vulnerable soul. After a restless session of facile cleaning, he hurried straight to Charles.

"What is bothering you?"

Dishevelled brunet huffed almost insulted - the first sound produced since the other showed up.

"Yeah-yeah, I know, mon âme, but you know that talking  _ helps.  _ And you need help, yes?"

Charles clasped one of his forearms, however, forced himself to nod. Because this time they'd get through this together.

"This is so stupid." 

"What exactly?"

"My naivety?"

Frenchman looked around the main room ponderously in which they sat. It seemed it has absorbed so much of other's sorrow that the room became not just bleak with dismal downpour behind the dusty intact curtain, but black and white. Or, to put it correctly, black and grey. Each concaved edge between planes in the room was inviting darkness that occupied Charles' heart and soul, gripping onto it and enhancing it. Simple corner seemed cavernous and produced an apprehensive feeling.

"Love is in its naivety. We are all kind of dumb in love, you know. There's no fault in falling in it." Even though Pierre knew how burdened Charles was he couldn't add to the obscurity of their surroundings a battered voice tone.

"No! I can't afford naivety! It led me to open up to Anthoine in like 2 weeks..." he became tongue-tied.

"It happens, Charles..."

"But in my case it kills people! Remember Jules? Now Anthoine! If they get close to me and I let them - they fucking  _ die. _ " He choked out each word feeling like he was telling the objective truth.

"I thought maybe I deserved, well, happiness, but I guess it was stupid of me to assume I can… I-"

Pierre took gently his hand. He regained all his strength to not let it tremble even though he was genuinely scared now - this was new. Charles had had certain unhealthy patterns in the past and Pierre was surely prepared for them... But this way of putting on guilt - he hasn't foreseen anything like this.

"Look me in the eyes, Charles. Because I need you to listen to me. This is NOT your fault. Yes, this is incredibly unfair. We all, you included,  _ deserve  _ happiness, okay?"

Fluffy brown eyelashes came up and presented ochre-greenish irises to azure ones. Charles bit his lip as if that would've stopped tears from rolling down.

"At least you saved yourself..."

Before Pierre could protest Charles pulled him in a tight almost gripping hug.

"We'll get over it, okay?"

"Thank you, Pierre, I will do my best for it. Can you stay for a while, we could watch something? Oh, sorry, Daniil probably would mind..."

He smiled warmly to a sudden suggestion, "He wouldn't. He knows I'm here to help you, I'd be glad to stay for a couple of hours."

***

_ Okay, Charles, it's a practice day, let's dive headfirst in racing. _

Charles was standing in front of the window of his hotel room. It was pleasantly sunny, and he desperately tried to just inhale this apricity so that this would spread through his veins mixed with oxygen. Charles honestly wanted to smile about something.

"Hey, you up? Don't forget about your breakfast!" popped up on his smartphone's screen. What would he do without Pierre... While getting himself presentable and going to breakfast he mused whether he should finally lift off this weight of French shoulders and consult with a bloody therapist or counsellor. Maybe after the season. 

For now, he focused on shoving in that muesli with banana which felt too hard to swallow. He just wanted a red car in which he was driving. It distracted him in Spa, it would distract him this time.

***

_ "Lecler gets away well!" _

_ "Just ahead as well... just a couple of inches." _

_ Just. Not. Fuck. This. Up. Charles. You can do this.  _

He was almost one unity with this roaring red around him. 

_ "Leclerc stays ahead! Very smart positioning of his car!" _

_"Leclerc locks up!"_ _Fuck! Not good enough, Charles!_

_ "He's driving for his life it seems!" _ It was much closer to the truth than Martin would've guessed. 

"Lewis has locked up behind you, Charles" squeaked through the team-radio and determined frown is momentarily mixed with a malicious grin.

_ "Mercedes threw everything at him and he's coped brilliantly. Charles Leclerc won Spa, he wins in Moza! He is the winner of the Italian Grand Prix!" _

Seeing the chequered flag radiated feverous heat of victory in his body, throat screaming with raw satisfaction. He didn’t remember being this high from any victory he had in his career. It's almost magical.

Champagne didn’t taste any bitter. It was sweet. Sweet as the red, green, yellow and white combined beneath his feet - the sea of insanely gleeful Tifosi. As sparkling as his own smile. His soul is full of mirth and joy. He strives to savour it and cherish it.

After the whole day, now, at the very late evening, he was just worn out. He had a couple of drinks with Pierre earlier in the evening - he deserved cutting some slack, let's be fair  _ \-  _ and at this point, post-drunk sleepiness started to develop. Charles accepted it gladly, almost excited for a good sleep after the best result this day could've brought. God, he needed this.

Just before final drift off, he brought back into reality for a brief moment.  _ Fucking of course... _

"This time you are forgiven." - his thoughts turned to a wrong direction to this phrase. Charles was totally sure that mechanics meant agreement for the quali, but something in the back of his head nags him and hinders sleep for a while, eventually losing to the latter.


	8. Decide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is failing to cope. Now he needs to make a final decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY GUYS here it's all even darker (and absurd, it was difficult to write since it's just hard to describe). Please, if you're uncomfortable with such things maybe just stop there... But if not then sorry for a jumpy rhythm, it felt better here.
> 
> twitter - @_tanynova_

They had an agreement. They had this at this point seeming ludicrous agreement. He was  _ the first.  _ He should've stood there on this first-place podium, not Sebastian! It's him who should've held up that dumb finger. Charles was  _ still  _ surprisingly pissed off about it. He couldn't recall the last time it was so challenging to keep a straight face... At this point, he should've learnt the way Ferrari sometimes… mess up. Usually, he would focus on positives which there was plenty of.

"It was an unintentional cut" -  _ yeah, sure, Binotto, as if you can imagine me without that irritating yellow band on the top of my car. _

He almost, at the end of the day it was still a podium, threw his cup to the corner of his hotel room. A depressed sigh escaped his lungs, eyes looking outside of the window to nothing exact. 

Charles, like any other driver, is incredibly competitive. "You need to be competitive to get to F1" is said by any driver interviewed ever. You can't exactly blame them for not truly understanding "competitive" how drivers do, surely. When a pilot loses his cool - it's simply because of ambitions that other one crushed. For a race or a championship. For a higher place. The less fair or less expected the crush - the wilder temper would get. Charles understood it perfectly and, fortunately, always had his ways of somewhat suppressing this petrolic heat of a driver. And considering any race loss he had - that wasn’t the worst, even Austria was more provocative for such air around him! Then why in the whole world was he still  _ shaking  _ with rage. "Sorry for the bad word" still was in his manner when it came to talking about others (obviously when Charles himself screws up he could use some spare putains) - but this time he was concerningly close to covering both Sebastian and the team with all swearwords he knew.

He frowned, a plethora of thoughts and responses fused in this focusing gesture.

_ Why? _

***

_ It has been a couple of months for Charles. He has now a habit of visiting the hospital every other day and, huge thanks to Pierre, doesn't stay there for excessive hours. He doesn't really know much, there haven't been any updates. Despite some miracles racing world has been able to gift to the world, such us Schumacher waking up from the coma... Is it exactly the miracle? He knew only briefly Mick because Charles and he isn't far off in age and, surely, it's lighter on the shoulders than demise, but still adds day-to-day psychological kilograms. _

_ At first annoying and now possibly helpful philosophical wanders to which he was pushed gently by a therapist now  _ almost  _ prepared him for what he dreaded the most. Unmistakably, the therapist with a warm but centred on him eyes also took into account... Let's call it "young maximalism", which is incredibly stereotypical, however not footless. After all, 17th birthday was glimmering on his horizon, and Charles was pulled out to the light and tried to prepare for anything that unfair life would hurl onto his glued together plate. _

_ It's more challenging than any other skilful rival, but not too pitch-dark or dispiriting to bear. _

***

Charles was never extremely fond of music. That darned "Señorita" was blasting through Anthoine's speakers all the time. He wasn’t sure, but that seemed like ghastly taste. In any case, something easy-going and gradual would be nice right now, because otherwise, he might be stuck in this hostile mood.

"Alright, let's see what's on Spotify today," he mumbled under his breath while getting up for his earbuds. Obviously, they were laying on the farthest table just to annoy Charles ever so slightly more. As if he hadn't enough. Even Spotify seemed to get on his strained nerves by tossing the one song he had listened to all the time. And then he bit his lip painfully and put it on repeat. Not the healing he was searching for, but a dire dialogue with someone up there.

_ "I've been feeling old, I've been feeling cold _

_ You're the heat that I know _

_ Listen, you are my sun," _

Swiftly allied with Charles' relentlessness which took over blunt anger...

_ "Hush, I said there's more to life than rush _

_ Not gonna leave this place with us _

_ Drop the game, it's not enough" _

Dawned on him as an answer from the Skies it felt like...

Drop the Game... If it was meant to be played days on repeat, should he just drop it all and leave? He sent it to play for the fifth time, questioning eyes up in the sky. He just wants an end for this morbid trail. What if he falls in love again? What if it's  _ Pierre?  _ Charles would rather... Kill himself? 

_ "I've been seeing all, I've been seeing your soul _

_ Give me things that I wanted to know _

_ Tell me things that you've done" _

If thoughts were considered crimes, he would just commit one.

"Yes, it's a better choice for all," he conceded. "Anthoine, Jules... I will meet you all up there." 

He didn't have any bad dreams or insomnia that night. Just serene blackness during an 8-hours blink.

***

Urgh, Brazil. Charles was never a fan. Tyres would scream and die off in 10 laps, better just crash out into the wall. Well... He might if he had a chance. But suicidal plans aside, he was still in a fight for the third place in a championship. On the other hand, it felt somewhat funny and absurd to fight for something that should work for the  _ future  _ when you stopped hoping for one. 

Gruesomely enough, his chest was feeling lighter with soon demise embraced. He patted his backpack which was laying on his knees unnaturally warmly. He had a letter. Several, to be exact. Whenever what needs to be done is done, they'll find them. His family and Pierre. They would probably need some explanation after all. Quite frankly, that wouldn’t be enough, nothing would ever be enough. This thought exhausted him slightly. The world is unfair. This decision is unfair. But Pierre's death is too expensive for Charles' life.

"Hey, Charles?" Pierre and he were sharing neighbouring seats in an aeroplane. It's been around 30 minutes since takeoff yet Charles didn't put out his backpack.

"Are you ok? You seem a little off," knowing his friend too well Pierre sounded worried.

Charles swallowed a convoluted in its background lump.

"What? Me? Sorry, just got lost in thoughts. I just don't like Brazil... I mean the race. I bet Seb's gonna not just undercut me but crash into me!"

Pierre warmed up in the face, preparing for a little rant of his best friend about Interlagos this time. He missed it a lot.

He missed bright Charles.

***

Preparing for races became weird. Even though adrenaline of a racing driver would never compete with any other feeling and would erase any off-topic twinkling, Charles feels somewhat distant. He still  _ hopes  _ for a win, for a podium... For a  _ good result _ .

4th in qualifying. Adequate, but top-3 in front are terrible to overtake. He would've dreaded overtaking Seb the most since now they both could go too far. Charles still hadn’t surpassed this irritability after Singapour. It was challenging for him to step ahead and past those feelings. But this time instead of dreadfulness he perceived it as an  _ opportunity.  _ Going too far meant they could crash.

During the briefing, the team discussed the main strategies for the race. They didn't sound promising. Not that Charles liked many of their ideas lately... In any case, this Grand Prix was looking more and more like a chance. The distance from himself developed into a hunch of some sort. The one that twists your stomach and from which there's no escape. He stopped believing in any omens, however, this seemed like a sign. Biggest one so far. 

_ Should I commit to it?  _

***

Charles fidgeted with his phone, unsure of his decision.

"Hey, Pierre, I know it's race-day tomorrow but I feel like shit, maybe we could hang out and watch something in my room?"

"Something happened?"

Charles almost winced guiltily, "Nah, I'm just bored, would be nice to have a company."

"Alright then, I'll be there in 10 minutes."

After all, if it was his last night, he would've wanted to see his best friend.

***

He was sitting under his umbrella as if as usual, glasses hiding his greenish irises and seeking musing. He was barely recognizable inside. Charles simply didn't have any desire to think about race he was  _ about to have _ .

"If I see the end of this stupid season… I'm getting a fucking therapist." Was the last thought, almost on the level of a feeling, when he got himself up slightly weary. It still stung to imagine how much he would fail the team, yet… There was no other way, right?

_ "And it's lights out and away we go!" _

Thank  _ god _ his typical self found its way to the mind's surface and for now Charles is quite racy. One overtake after the other resonated energetic fervour through, hands clenching the wheel like a safe boat. 

"Hell no, Val you're not going through me!" Charles almost fidgeted in his seat even though it's virtually impossible in an F1 car. Gifting him a somewhat delighted grin Valterri indeed fired up his engine trying too hard. Safety car… Yes!

_ "Now he needs to overtake his teammate which he does! Charles Leclerc goes up to 4th place!"  _

His hand trembled when wheeling the side of Seb's red car. Maybe he'd build up enough courage for the next race… Or not.

_ "Oh no, Charles Leclerc has got a puncture just on the straight with both Ferrari drivers going top speed! Monégasque goes off the road…" _

Croft cut out his chain of expressive comments finding himself struggle for words.

_ "It seems like a very nasty accident out there and Charles Leclerc doesn't look like he's getting up. We might need a medical crew…" _

Charles lost control. Going over 300 kmph on the straight combined terribly with the puncture. He managed to drift according to the first reflex to find a way to slow down, but it only spun him giving dizziness. 

Panic crept in. He wasn't ready yet… Yet the red coffin was about to hug the barrier with too high of g forces. Charles was powerless. Instinctively leaving fingers on the wheel he closed his eyes in a sheer attempt to embrace the crash. 

God, his body carries too much weight to lift up. He can’t.  _ He won’t. _ He abided to it and continued the deadly embrace.

_ "Charles… is this you?" _

_ "Who is speaking?" _

_ "It's me, Jules. Don't worry about anything, I'm here. Anthoine is with me." _

_ "Am I… Dying?" _

_ Jules bit his lip to hide both unsteady lips and voice. _

_ "We think you are, mon pote." _

_ "Will Pierre, my mum, my brothers… Will they be now safe?" _

_ As if presenting real souls both Jules and Anthoine took a contemplating pause, ultimately looking for Charles' inner peace. _

_ "Yes. They'll have a long, happy life." _

A tender soft grin spread under the helmet with the last relieved breath.

***

"What's happened?"

"An accident with two Ferraris. Looks quite serious. Leclerc is taken to the hospital."

Someone poured a bucket of ice-cold water all over him or so it was sensed. He almost flickered on the curb but timely put himself back together. After all, a racing driver puts focus and therefore safety first.

Charles is going to be fine.

Pierre wasn’t believing it… A podium, for goodness’s sake! He took a deep breath, remembering the champagne’s intoxicating smell, cementing the moment in his memory forever. He’s so happy.

He was. 

A little weary but still aware he went down the stairs and realized that there was nobody. Well, not exactly no people, but no Charles. Only then have his already relaxed mind got grip on itself and remembered the accident. Pierre shook his head slightly and asked Christian since he stood the closest.

“Have you seen Charles?”

There was a worried look on Horner’s face. “I’m so sorry... I think he’s still in the hospital.”

Pierre held a breath for a brief second so that the tipsy self would take it as easy as possible. Accidents happen.

But he’s still going to check up on Charles.


	9. Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending. The beginning. Dark and bittersweet. Fragile unsure light peaks through, showing the future.

“Why the fuck did I set the alarm?” Pierre mumbled annoyingly into his worn pillow covers. Watches showed the third snooze and 12 am blinking in a reminding manner. If clocks could scold, this one would right at this moment. He should’ve been woken up by now and be ready for a training session with Pyry, but it’s tough. He sighed, bluntly reminding himself that it would be utterly reckless to let two seasons tragedies make him weaker than he is. Plus, getting out of shape would be inconvenient. And probably Dany wouldn’t be the most appreciative of it.

Yet again, tragedies are onerous. Especially when there has been two in an achingly short time. Anthoine, then Charles. Fuck’s sake.

He looked around an almost offensively bleak for his mental state room with closed curtains and winced. As he was moving them away to let the French sun through he heard a rustling around his door. A letter fell feather-like onto ivy green carpet which attracted sleepy attention of blue eyes. The envelope was unusual shape and colour - fairly small and scarlet red. Pierre almost yelped as if burnt and threw the letter away when he saw from whom it was as.

“ _ From Charles _ ”

He fought back the tears, rejected Pyry’s call and picked up the letter back. With trembling fingers he slowly opened it, hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

_ “Hey, it’s Charles. If you’re reading this, I most likely went to a better place to Anthoine and Jules. I’m truly sorry, but I couldn’t let my death trail include you, Pierre. I’m giving you the life of winning without bloodstains as mine had. _

_ I love you, Pierre. Live well, _

_ Charles x” _

He read it again. A little “x” at the end turned into a light blue splotch because of a fallen tear. He tried to brush it away as if it was the strongest corrodent on planet Earth. 

“What am I supposed to do with this, you idiot?!” Pierre ineffectually asked the wall in front of him.

“Live well… How the fuck am I supposed to live well knowing that your death was MY fault?!” He yelled hopelessly.

The strongest pain sucked up his energy momentarily and his knees fell to the floor, palms on the hostile cold parquet. 

***

It was a surprisingly breezy and unpleasantly cold day in Rouen. Pyry tightened his coat and used all his strength to get to the destination as quickly as possible. Once he saw the building, a Russian figure waved at him.

“Hi, Dany, what are you doing here?” 

“What do you mean? I’m visiting Pierre as well.” if this question had come from anyone else, he would’ve been offended.

“But isn’t it painful to see him like that?” as a true coach, Pyry couldn’t help but care for him, especially considering his relation to Pierre.

“He needs support, you know that. And as much as people can provide.” Dany’s voice sounded dry and hoarse. And drained.

Pyry patted his shoulder with understanding and compassion and they moved to Centre Hospitalier Hyeres. A contrastingly welcoming and friendly receptionist greeted them and a nurse showed the way to Pierre’s room. As if in spite of soft ornaments on the wall both of the men were heavy-hearted. Pyry was planning the most efficient yet caring recovery methods and Dany… He was looking for words, still unsure whether he would be heard. There was still guilt pressing him, an irritating feeling that he could’ve noticed earlier, that he was oblivious… And who needs a therapist among the two then.

“Here’s his room, he shouldn’t be sleeping right now, so you can come in.” A nurse waved at the light grey generic door.

Both felt slightly reluctant to push the door, so Pyry knocked and peaked in firstly. Frenchman was staring bleakly at the blanket covering him. He looked up towards the door slowly, looking drowsy in an unhealthy way. They thought it’d be best to one by one, so there was only Pyry standing. A hardly noticeable corners’ raise brushed over dry Pierre’s lips, showing Pyry that he has been noticed.

Dany in the meantime tried to cool down his fervent with all useless thoughts head against the wall’s greenness which now looked suddenly revolting. The slow yet sturdy door’s opening unstuck him from the paint. He stared at Pyry, waiting for commentary.

“He’s just so tired, thankfully he’s cared for.” Came out almost by a surprise. Something that would be said by an exhausted person who still cares and still tries his best, yet can’t exactly cope. Dany never heard anything similar from Pyry, usually as a coach and a trainer he would be steadfast, the mental unbreakable rock. 

The Russian tried to swallow a lump of apprehension and fear, hand holding the door’s already unpleasantly heated metal handle assertively. 

The room could be described as functional. Practical to the point of being empty and bleak; walls of rotten lemon were only decorated with black and white paper prooving room’s viability, yet Daniil would doubt it. There was no dust on the unused plastic see-through vase on the scratched and unsteady wooden table as well as nothing at all. There could’ve been an old, screechy tv box with 5 channels, but the visitor reckoned Pierre wouldn’t do well with mass media. Especially sports channels. 

Once he adjusted to the atmosphere, his legs made several quiet steps towards stark white sheets with a very thin human being hidden underneath. He bit his lip slightly looking at his partner in a self-regulating manner. To stop the tears falling basically because in front of him was laying a distorted version of Pierre. Eyes went from bottom to the top: bony blueish fingers, freshly applied bandages from palm to elbow, drip heads right after, a generic diluted mint of patient’s robe, unusually not thick looking neck, morbidly protruding cheekbones and… Blue dull eyes directly looking at him. Pierre almost startled him by how uncomfortably intense and unmoving was the stare. Dany forced himself on a cold hard white chair.

“Hi.” He looked expectantly at the Frenchman.

“Hi.” He echoed in response, striving for eagerness but still sounding weak.

Dany’s heart panged. He hid his wince unsuccessfully and reached for other’s hand which was met with a soft response.

“How are you holding up?”

“Medics said I gained some healthy kilos, the bandages are mostly precautions rather than necessity...” He was interrupted.

“No. How are  _ you  _ holding up?”

Pierre fidgeted noticeably and thought for a moment. In simple terms - he was still feeling like shit. More profoundly - the guilt as heavy as your friend’s grave wears off for years.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. But please, Dany,” he sat up a little, “I’m trying.” sky blue of his eyes glistened with tears forming,

In a wave of affection and care, Dany leaned on and placed a loving tender kiss on Pierre’s cheek, which made latter’s lips lift its corners slightly. It was good enough. Dany came here to brighten up the hospital routine. 

Day after day. Pierre’s trying to overcome the past. To live.

With Dany by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Firstly, if you're here then I love you - thank you for reading. Secondly, if it feels rushed - it never was. It' supposed to be jumpy in the last chapters - that's how the characters lived it, forgetting routine stuff. The plan was 6 chapters, now there's 9 and I could write more. But as for the 9 chapter - it's a finishing touch, it wasn't meant to be long. Thirdly, I'm sorry it took so long... It took a lot in me not to drop this in the middle, knowing how psychologically centred it was going to be.
> 
> Fourthly... here's my twitter - @_tanynova_
> 
> I already have some plans for future works!


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